Irreconcilable Differences
by Dark Blue Petals
Summary: Ginny and Daphne never got along. For Ginny, she had to endure being a secret because for society she isn't good enough and she hated Daphne because in the end Daphne had everything she wanted, even the man she loved. On the other hand, despite the title, Daphne was the other woman in the relationship. With two hearts unsatisfied, will they ever have the life they truly deserve?


Disclaimer: Nothing is mine; everything is J. K. Rowling's.

It's been a long time hasn't it? Sad to say life got busy, anyway, I decided to reupload and revise the chapter.

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 **DAPHNE GREENGRASS**

 **For women of her stature, having a son would be a dream; it was the start of another chapter in their life. For Daphne, however, it would be a nightmare; she was not quite willing to throw away everything in her life yet. Thankfully, having a child was what was going to break off the chains that bound her from being free—it would be the end of her story as a Longbottom. But she never thought that things would change, that she would not be quite as willing to let go.**

 _GINEVRA WEASLEY_

 _All her life she had to be strong. Sacrifice and long suffering— she had prepared for all that. But sometimes, we have to learn that enough is enough. Life for her was not easy and she was never one to back down. Life had taught her to be strong, to never give up and to never let go. But will this lesson be the one to make things worse? Everyone has their limit—the breaking point where they have to let go less they be toppled over. Will the same apply to her; does she really have to let go?_

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Duty not Love

Daphne Longbottom had everything—prestige, honor, fame and all the riches anyone could ever want.

She had the Boy-Who-Lived otherwise known as the Man-Who-Conquered—a man who belonged in every woman's dream of a happily ever after, but not for her. She was not happy.

While Neville Longbottom was quite frankly not the one to be blamed, she still found him to be the object of her anger. Call it misdirected, but if the man had never existed, then she would have never been stuck in this mess.

She disliked the cool blasé attitude he had reserved only for her; she for one knew he loved to joke around with his friends. It was just with her that he was different; it was like, he had with all fiber of his being deemed no amount of friendly relations could ever be formed with her. Perhaps she was too dirty for him.

She snorted. Of course she was; she was the slimy Slytherin, while he was the Gryffindor Golden Boy.

Everything with the infuriating man was purely business. As loathe as it was for her to admit, Neville Longbottom was like a violinist playing the whole quartet, with her dancing to his every tune.

Everything was a facade, and even their happy little marriage was a ruse. It was at most for the adoring public, the very people who clamored to them like a needy, helpless dog.

Sickening really.

His act fooled her countless of times into believing that Neville was a master politician in his past life. He'd shoot the people these charming smiles that would make all the people turn to goo. So to treat her the same way as the adoring masses was insulting. Did he really think she was that foolish and gullible?

Though sometimes, he was not that bad. Dare she say it, she had become fond of him. At times, he would let his boisterous personality run rampant around her—but he still felt farther than ever. All his actions were controlled beneath a composed veneer, every move was measured. Every night in bed was supposed to be one of steamy, hot exchange and it was, but the cold iciness still remained.

Everything was lacking. The vivid warmth that should have made everything pleasant, appallingly agitated her instead. The loving affections that should have made her feel lush, heavily disturbed her. The gentle kindness that should have put her at ease, greatly sickened her

It was tiring to have to put up with such coldness that all she could was to respond in kind and wait. After all, Slytherins were snakes and, true to their name, they always bit back. No matter how long it may take, they were always ready to strike. Safely coiled, they bid their time.

Though to her shame, as lacking everything may be, her body betrayed her emotions in bed. Daphne momentarily flushed as she remembered their groans of pleasure and the way her body arched and desperately begged for more.

She remembered his caress how loving it was, how he would sink down slowly and leave trails of fire on her skin, how he could bring her to the edge but never to climax. It was like a game to him. He would touch her and make her feel on top of the world but never give her the release she dearly wished.

'Slytherins did not beg, especially to a lowly Gryffindor. They blackmail, they threaten, they plot but they did not beg.' Tightly, she fisted her hands in anger at the memory of how she submitted to him in their moment of passion was dredged up.

But that was in bed. Things outside of their bedroom were different, completely and utterly different. She would not loose, she would not submit, she would not back down. But so did he—that foolish Gryffindor courage and pride of his refused to do so. Every day was a battle of wills, a clashing of pride, and a conflict of egos.

It was hell and silently she wondered why she had even nurtured the faint hope that things would be different.

The swearing of their vows, unlike what Tracey had been led to believe, was not the key to a better relationship but instead a lock that cemented the way to the already paved and rocky relationship they had.

'Duty not love,' she repeated the mantra to herself, but it did not make the small ache within her any lesser. In fact, it reignited it. It reminded her of what would never come to be.

'56 months, 30 days, and 23 hours till she could be free.' she silently told herself. It was long and it honestly seemed forever. Not to mention, she was also not the most patient woman, but it was still better than nothing. It was a rope thrown to let her pull herself up from the dark well she dug herself to, but escape won't be easy.

The rope was not even half the battle, pulling herself up was. And even then, she had to ignore the urge to sink back to the abyss. He was dangerous but tempting. The more she stayed, the less she had the urge to leave.

She felt like those woman who delusion themselves of things that would never be. A more apt feeling was, she felt like Pansy. Pansy who had desperately fooled herself into thinking of Draco and her happily ever after. Someone she swore she would never be. She used to ridicule Pansy's helpless panting and love-struck looks at Malfoy. Now, to do so would make her a hypocrite.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

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Ginevra Weasley was in love with Neville Longbottom. Not because he had saved her from the basilisk in her first year; Neville was quite frankly someone she found herself depending on. She could not find a day where she had forgotten his presence.

He was just there. So slowly, her mind would start to stray to him; she would remember his generosity, his kindness and the gentleness which his eyes would always hold. Neville was brave, willing to fight for what he believed despite everyone being against him. Neville was caring; never had he left anyone to suffer.

She admired him. He was an embodiment of virtue, love, bravery and care. He was her hero and her world. He was the knight that would whisk her of her feet. He was the man that would help heal any hurt or pain in her heart. He was the one who would be by her side through thick and thin.

He was more than just an older brother. He was her protector, and she did not think she could live without him.

Simply put, she was in love with him.

She, however, did NOT like Daphne Longbottom.

Call it possessive but Neville was supposed to be hers. So to hear her boyfriend, or was it ex-boyfriend, was suddenly married to the aforementioned woman was a knife to the heart.

She did not even hear they were engaged. It was either Neville did everything to keep the news under wraps or he h-

She quickly ended the thought.

'No,' she told herself, 'that was impossible.'

Angrily, she thrashed the picture frames that decorated her room and even the photo of her and Neville on their favorite spot near the Great Lake wrapped in a tight embrace, looking so in love.

With a second thought, she grabbed the photo and looked at it, something she had successfully avoided doing until now.

'Where had those times gone,' she wondered sadly.

For the past months, they did nothing but fight and argue. In fact, a month ago—the very month before his marriage to Greengrass—they did not even talk. Of course, her family noticed, but thankfully this was something they had reluctantly not poked their nose into.

Harshly rubbing the tear that slipped her eye, she continued thrashing her room, determined at emptying it of anything that had once held significance to her, specifically one that held any remembrance of the Boy-Who-Broke-Her-Heart.

A loud knock could be heard at the door as her brother called her name, startling her out of the destruction of her room.

"Ginny!" Ron called out, his voice in a tone she could not read.

"What!" she snapped back, pausing at her tearing of the stuff toy the Boy-Who-She-Would-Make-Sure-Would-Not-Live gave her.

"Would you come down? Someone wants to talk to you."

"No! Can't you see I'm busy?" she replied irately, wishing dearly they would leave her alone.

'Great,' she huffed mentally, 'she was acting like a distraught woman.'

She promised herself she would be strong. She would not allow herself to be helpless or kicked over so easily.

Dating the Boy-Who-Lived did not come without risks. It meant having to be the patient damsel in distress/doormat girlfriend, while the hero went away with his friends on an adventure. But it also meant having the Gryffindor to fight and not keel over. It meant suffering and loneliness. It meant heartbreak and disappointment.

She had prepared herself for all those. How could she not; that was what love was all about—long suffering and sacrifice.

She sounded bitter and, clearly, her life would be better had she not fallen in love with him. Admittedly at first, it was hero worship but now it was something deeper. She found herself wanting to be with him and even the slightest bit of being in his company was enough.

Fate was cruel. To make her love someone who could never love her back. Fully at least. Neville had duties—to the Wizarding World— He was their source of hope, peace and protection. The world may be rid of Voldemort, but it was still in tatters. Its structure had been broken up and shaken by the corruption and tyranny of the Death Eaters and Voldemort, himself.

How many times would she be second best in his life? Look at it now. Just how meaningless was she to him that he did not even had the gall to breakup with her? He had instead left her a bumbling oblivious fool while he wed a woman that was not her.

"No one else," he had vowed to her. Where was that promise now? Crudely broken without a second thought.

"Ginny?" a soft voice spoke as the door to her room cracked open.

Clenching a fist, her jaw stiffened. She hated how despite everything he still meant something to her, how his voice could still make her insides jump and her knees weak.

Shaking her head, she hardened her heart.

"Get out!" she growled at the perpetrator, unable to look at him for fear of tearing up.

"Look, I know you're angry," Neville said gently, "but please let m-"

"No! You had the time to explain. You had your bloody chance! Now, please," Ginny said, her voice slightly quivering, "GET OUT OF MY BLOODY ROOM!"

"Ginny," the Boy-Who-Lived bravely replied, unwilling to leave her alone.

Annoyance clear in her face, she spun around to face him and whipped out her wand. Under her breath, she muttered the Bat-Bogey Hex.

Thousands of black winged creatures swarmed toward said boy and attacked his face with a vengeance that surprised even her. Neville screamed a high pitch series of yelps as he struggled to wrestle the dark black winged creatures from his face.

She was not yet done though. Call it petty, but she had warned him; he did not listen. Momentarily, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Having made up her mind, her eyes snapped open and the air within her escaped. Just like the breath she had stored, she expelled the magic that she had channelled to the conduit.

A red light flew from her wand. "Depulso."

With that Neville Longbottom was violently sent hurtling out of her room, leaving her alone with the sweet silence the perpetrator had deprived her of.

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 **Author's Note:** Well, what do you, guys, think? Should I continue?


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